Perhaps It Is Logic

Love is an assembly of reasonble emotions meshed with An arrangement of erratic, unrealistic drastically disorganized measures. I know, because the moon smiled down on me the night he took my hand, he gave me four wishes and I was hooked. Never warned, dandelions are only weeds- Stars are too hot to reach, wishbones refuse to be fair, and 11:11 repeats itself far too often. So I laugh, wishing is a rather gleeful imperfection, I know.

Love is beautifully painful- as is the truth. We stumble through it, addicted. I know, addiction. It's in his smile, his touch, his laugh, his mind. It numbs me to life. Love is this crazy tragedy that everyone sings about writes about, I know.

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